His life had no gist
Nevertheless, plenty of bane
By the time, she was at hand
The poor man, was half-insane
Her purple hair
His befuddled heart
Were made on behalf of, each other
Right from the start
Showing him, how
To be himself
Still fearful, but
Bold—with moral stealth
People tore her up
Without a break, he held her hand
And listened, yet
He couldn’t understand
Her nails were black
But she—so clear
Teasing her, shoddily
Why- to his dear?
No real insight
Of who she was
What she meant
Everything she stood for, was so right
Together, they changed
The wintry dry race
Into people with core
People with a base
Who fear, not, the different
But the same
To walk around with dignity
Freed from their shame
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you're a precocious kid to deal with shame and dignity so astutely wow!